


Like a Prayer

by romanticalgirl



Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-05 08:12:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/720824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I do not like anything that puts a man on his knees</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Prayer

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://nolivingman.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://nolivingman.livejournal.com/)**nolivingman**? Still evil. Also, still good with titles. 
> 
> Originally posted 1-15-06

“You!” Lancelot shouts, the sound causing the horses to stir. “You, God, of his.” His voice is rough from lack of sleep, from the thick tears in his throat. “What…who are you to destroy him? Who are you to desert him now when he needs your guidance most?” He kicks at a pail and closes his eyes as he listens to it skitter across the room. His horse whinnies and steps back and he storms away, stripping his saddle from the wall. “You are like Rome, leaving him to fend for himself after he has sacrificed everything for you.”

“Does he answer?”

Lancelot whirls around, his heart pounding. “Apparently he has as many answers for those who don’t believe as for those who do.” He sets his saddle on the table and crosses his arms over his chest. “Why are you not preparing for battle?”

“The war will come to me on its own. There are other fights I must face first.” Arthur moves to the bench in front of him and sits down. “Do you hate me so much for this?”

“Throwing your life away? It is yours to dispense with as you will.”

“Ah.” Arthur nodded, the corner of his lips curving up. “There is no chance that I might win? That I can defeat the Saxons?”

“You’re the stuff of legend, Arthur,” he allows.

“We, Lancelot.” He stands and places his hand on Lancelot’s shoulder. “We are the stuff of legend.”

“Legends die.”

“And we will not?”

“Preferably not now.” He refuses to look at Arthur. “You could live to be a wise old man, Arthur. Have a beautiful wife and far too many children.”

“You wish for me to be Bors?”

“I said wise.” He smirks.

“That is not the life for me, my dear friend. Or for you. If I die, let it be in battle fighting for something that I believe in. Something that is true. Something that is right.”

“And I?”

“You will die in a fight with some beautiful woman’s husband who is wondering why his child looks remarkably like the gallant Sarmatian knight.”

“You think some fat old man can kill me?”

“Depends, my friend, on how beautiful the wife is.” Arthur cocks his brow and glances out of the stables then back, watching Lancelot’s body stiffen. “You do have a desire for beauty.”

“And some restraint. Despite what the legends might say, I don’t steal everyone’s woman.”

“You don’t steal anyone’s woman, Lancelot.” Arthur lets his hand slide around Lancelot’s shoulder, pulling him close. “You borrow them.”

“I always return them. Slightly disappointed in their life after me, but never dissatisfied.” He allows a laugh. “It was not meant to be this way, Arthur.”

“It was meant to be as it is. A wise man once taught me that.”

“Pelagius?”

“No, Lancelot.” Arthur pulls Lancelot toward him and holds him tightly before pulling away, tilting his head toward the door then leading him from the stables. “You.”

**

Guinevere stands as they walk into Arthur’s chambers and Lancelot’s back stiffens, tension coiling his muscles as he stops. Arthur walks over and embraces her, kissing her forehead tenderly before turning, his arm around her, and looking at Lancelot.

“I should go.” He starts to leave, stopping as Guinevere reaches out and takes his hand. “What is this, Arthur?”

“You have been by my side for fifteen years, Lancelot. You have fought alongside me.” Arthur glances at Guinevere then back to Lancelot. “Do not begrudge me this goodbye?”

Lancelot looks down at Guinevere’s hand around his wrist then at Arthur. “This is goodbye?”

“If you wish it.” Arthur watches Lancelot with sharp, seeing eyes. “After all we have sacrificed and all we have risked, should we not get what we desire?”

“But this. Arthur…”

Arthur approaches him. He holds his ground, his gaze locked on Arthur’s. “Do you not want it, Lancelot? Her? Does your wanting for other women only exist when they are not freely given?” He reaches out, his fingers brushing Lancelot’s cheek. “Do you not want me?”

He shakes his head, his hands trembling. “Do not asks me this…this madness.”

“Grant me this boon, Lancelot.” Arthur’s fingers move over his cheek, callused hands rough against his skin.

“You cannot ask this.” His lips remain parted, his tongue darting out to wet them.

“Have I done nothing other than ask for what I cannot?” Arthur smiles, thumb rubbing over Lancelot’s lower lip. “Lancelot?” Arthur raises his other hand and cups the side of Lancelot’s face, his palm over Lancelot’s mouth. They remain still for a long moment until Arthur urges him forward toward Guinevere.

He stumbles and stops in front of her, glancing back at Arthur over his shoulder. “She…”

Arthur smiles and moves behind him, capturing Lancelot between himself and Guinevere. “She has skin like alabaster, Lancelot.” Taking his hand, Arthur places it on the curve of Guinevere’s shoulder. “Silken and sleek. Touch it.”

“She is yours.”

“I am no one’s,” Guinevere’s voice is soft yet loud in the silence. “No one’s to give.” She glances at Arthur and then back at Lancelot, her lips parting. “No one but my own.”

“And is this to appease me for luring him away from the promise of freedom and the rest of his life in exchange for death?” He laughs bitterly. “You offer yourself up in some great sacrifice?”

“I asked this of her, Lancelot.” He turns at Arthur’s words. “I see it in your eyes, the way you look at her. And I know, for all that you have done and will do, you would not do this, you would not steal her from me.”

“As I am so noble a knight?” His thick sarcasm changes as Arthur moves closer, his hands on Lancelot’s shoulders, guiding him back toward Guinevere. “Arthur, I have given you everything I am.”

“You have, my friend.” Arthur’s lips are warm against his throat, the rough scratch of stubble burning his flesh. “Let me return the favor.”

**

Lancelot shudders as Arthur’s hands move over his arms, smoothing over the fabric in time with the burning kisses that trail down his neck. Eyes wide, he stares at Guinevere, his lips parted. “He loves you,” she whispers, moving closer. Her hands find the belt that holds his jacket closed, unfastening it with nimble fingers. “There is no shame in love.”

She raises up and presses a soft kiss to his lips, the haunting taste heavy on his breath. She pushes his jacket away from his chest, smoothing her hands over the thin tunic beneath it. Arthur moves away enough to pull the jacket free, letting it pile on the floor at their feet. Turning his head away from the promise of Guinevere’s kiss, he meets Arthur’s gaze. “Do not ask this of me, Arthur.”

“Because you cannot?”

Lancelot reaches up and touches Arthur’s lips with two fingers. The silence in the room grows as he smiles sadly. “Because I can’t not.”

It is Arthur’s turn to shudder, his entire body shaking with the rush of emotion as he catches Lancelot’s head again, his strong hand at the nape of his neck and pulling him closer. “You will not forget this night. You will not forget me.”

He feels Guinevere behind him and catches his breath. “She threads through my veins like poison,” he catches his breath as hands begin to move over him, smoothing along his back. “And you are burned into my blood.” His voice is almost sad. “This is done before it has even begun.”

Guinevere’s voice is low and strong. “No. It has but barely begun.” She gathers his tunic in her hands and pulls it up, over his head. He turns away from Arthur to face her and kisses her, his tongue tasting the edges of her mouth. She parts her lips and he groans deep inside his chest, unable to keep himself from sliding inside her, tasting the sweet forbidden as her tongue meets his then recedes as he explores the heat of her.

The rustle of fabric breaks them apart and Lancelot glances over his shoulder as Arthur pulls his tunic off, letting it tumble down to Lancelot’s. Arthur’s strong, callused hand snakes around Lancelot’s waist as he moves closer, his chest branding the length of Lancelot’s back. Closing his eyes, he rests his head against Arthur’s body until the gruff whisper forces him to open them, watching as Guinevere reaches up and slides her dress away from her skin.

“With a God, Lancelot,” Arthur’s voice is a rumbling in his ear, fighting against the rush of his blood. “You have someone to thank.”

“Without one,” Lancelot manages as Guinevere steps free of her gown and rests her hands against Lancelot’s laces, fingers moving easily as she tugs them loose and free from their moorings, “I can simply relish my good fortune.”

Arthur laughs and Lancelot swallows the sound, reaching up to hold Arthur’s head down, their lips together as their tongues reenact battles – thrust and parry and hold. Lancelot groans as Guinevere’s hand frees him, the sound echoing as he thrusts forward against her then back, the hard press of Arthur’s arousal firm against him. He groans again as Guinevere’s hands ease his pants over his thighs as Arthur’s hand brushes against his ass as he unfastens his own laces. Lancelot pants roughly, gasping as Arthur’s knuckle digs into his flesh.

“Knees weak?” Arthur teases him, his breath hot against Lancelot’s ear. “Shall you sink down and pray?”

“If I am on my knees, Arthur, I shall not be praying.”

Arthur laughs and pulls Lancelot down onto the bed. Guinevere slides between them, finding Arthur’s mouth with her own. Lancelot sheds his boots and pants, laying back so that his body presses against Guinevere’s back as he reaches across her to help her as she strips Arthur’s clothes off of him. “His boots,” she whispers against Arthur’s lips and Lancelot slides away from the bed to tug them free, tossing them aside along with the smooth second skin of Arthur’s leather.

Guinevere catches his hand and pulls him down next to them again, turning her body so that she lies between them. Arthur’s hand splays across her stomach as Lancelot strokes her thigh, fingers tracing the silvery threads of scars that decorate her bare flesh. His eyes follow Arthur’s hand as it moves up her stomach, curving around her breast and cupping it gently in his hand. He held Lancelot’s eyes as he bent his head, his tongue curling around the dark flesh and sucking it into his mouth.

Lancelot’s smile curled as he let his hand follow Arthur’s path, feeling the weight of her other breast against his palm. He bent his head as well, his tongue darting out to brush Arthur’s before moving over to the nipple and teasing it to an even tighter peak. Her hands coil in his hair, fingers tight and pulling.

He doesn’t look up as Arthur moves, shifting away from Guinevere as Lancelot trails his tongue down her skin to the valley between her breasts. He can feel Arthur’s piercing green eyes on his skin as his friend moves with cat-like grace, sitting up to run his hand along Lancelot’s back, fingers caressing ancient symbols onto his flesh as Lancelot’s tongue moved further south, circling Guinevere’s navel as his hand slides along her hips.

He stops as he feels Arthur behind him, the rough pads of his fingers moving over the curve of Lancelot’s ass, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin. He closes his eyes as Arthur leans against him, the hard press of his cock hot and heavy against Lancelot’s skin. He closes his eyes, his fingers digging into Guinevere’s flesh as he lets out a shaky breath before resuming his slow, lazy trip down her body to the dark tangle of hair between her thighs. His breath feathers over her as he leans in, inhaling the sharp scent of her.

He parts her flesh with his fingers, the slick slide of them wet with arousal. He holds his breath for a moment then blows out a cool stream that forces a quiet moan from her lips. He chuckles quietly, the sound melting into a rough gasp as Arthur’s fingers find his ass again, the thick coating of oil on them sliding as easily over Lancelot’s skin as his tongue trails over Guinevere’s clit.

She bucks up against his mouth and he captures the hardness between his teeth, flickering his tongue against the sensitive nub. She cries out, breathing raggedly as he thrusts a slow finger inside her, feeling her body tighten around the intrusion. “Heaven,” he breathes against her skin, thrusting another finger inside her as his tongue continues to tease her. She reaches down, her fingers tangling in his hair.

“And I thought, old friend,” Arthur’s laugh is low and thick as his fingers circle the tight muscle of Lancelot’s ass, pressing against it slowly before retreating. “You didn’t like anything that put a man on his knees.” He pressed harder, penetrating the muscle. Lancelot gasped and stiffened, his body cording tensely. With his free hand he reached down and rubbed Lancelot’s cock, stroking the thick hardness. “Perhaps you were hasty.”

Lancelot thrusts back, his flesh clamped tightly against the thrusting finger. He imitates Arthur’s movements with his own fingers, pushing deeper inside Guinevere’s heat. “Perhaps.”

Another finger joins the first and Lancelot groans, resting his head against Guinevere’s thigh and trembling, his breath like fire against her flesh. Swallowing hard, he moves back to her clit, tongue moving over it erratically as Arthur’s fingers continued to stroke inside him.

Guinevere gasps, her body quivering like a poised arrow as her hands tighten in Lancelot’s hair. His fingers move faster, deeper as he licks and sucks at her clit, pulling off and crying out as Arthur’s fingers leave him. He bites at Guinevere’s thigh, tracing the mark from his teeth with his tongue as he pants, begging Arthur softly, quietly.

The smooth tip of Arthur’s cock presses against him and Lancelot thrusts down against the bed and then back, the ache of muscle and tension coiling in his thighs as he braces himself for Arthur’s stroke. He moves mindlessly, a third finger pushing inside Guinevere as she cries out his name, her hips arching upward as she pushes toward her release. His tongue and fingers are slick with the heated taste of her. He frees his fingers and curves his hands under her hips, burying himself against her flesh, his tongue bathing in the deep well of her arousal. She gasps as he groans, her climax coating his tongue as Arthur’s body presses against his, himself buried in the tight, clenching heat of Lancelot.

Lancelot takes a gasping breath, inhaling deeply against the heady aroma of Guinevere’s flesh. He kisses her thigh, bringing his fingers back around to tease and torment her, thrusting them slowly inside her again, her soft shudder echoed by his as Arthur pulls back until just the thick tip remains inside Lancelot then thrusts again, pushing the thick wave of his orgasm deep inside.

**

Lancelot slumps down onto the bed as Arthur eases away from him, falling down beside him. Lancelot turns his head and meets Arthur’s heavy lidded gaze over the curve of Guinevere’s thigh. Reaching out, Arthur rubs at Lancelot’s chin, his thumb rasping over the wet scruff of his beard. He pulls his hand back, licking the ball of his thumb before resting his head on Guinevere’s stomach, smiling lazily up at her. She reaches down and strokes his hair, tugging gently to pull him up beside her.

Lancelot forces himself to his knees, kneeling at her feet as Arthur pulls her into his arms and rolls onto his back, taking her with him. Her weight settles against Arthur, his large arms holding her tightly to his chest. Glancing over Guinevere’s shoulder, Arthur cocks an eyebrow. “You’re still on your knees, old friend.”

He turns his gaze back to Guinevere, pushing her hair back from her face and guiding her mouth to his. Lancelot rakes a hand through his hair, his eyes intent on the arched curve of Guinevere’s back, the pale flesh of her ass. He inches forward, listening to the soft groans as she bites at Arthur’s lips. His hands stroke her thighs apart, easing her legs over Arthur’s. His palms move from soft to rough, the rasp of hair on Arthur’s thighs rough on her skin and Lancelot’s as he moves forward, edging between their spread legs until the hardness of his cock rests against the curve of her ass.

She moans into Arthur’s kiss and Lancelot guides himself inside her, closing his eyes as her heat surrounds him, enveloping his cock. As he opens his eyes, he sees Arthur’s hands stroking down her back until the tips of his fingers brush against Lancelot’s skin. He rests there, not moving until Guinevere pushes back against him, his eyes locked on Arthur’s.

The knowing gaze holds his own as Lancelot grasps Guinevere’s hips and begins moving in earnest, thrusting deep inside her. She whimpers softly, burying her face against Arthur’s chest. She shakes with every thrust, her oversensitized flesh pulsing around him. He reaches out with one hand and captures Arthur’s, lacing their fingers together, squeezing tightly as his body stills and he comes.

After a long moment, Lancelot smiles, his look as wise as Arthur’s and as wicked as the feel of his skin. “This kind of prayer, Arthur, I can understand.”

“A step closer,” Arthur concedes as he guides Guinevere down onto the bed before tugging Lancelot down between them.

“To God?” Lancelot asks quietly, his eyes closed as Arthur turns toward him, draping a leg over both of his, Guinevere’s hand resting just above the base of his cock, her head on his shoulder.

Their voices heavy with satisfaction, Arthur and Guinevere both speak at once. “To heaven.”

**

He blinks rapidly against the sun filtering into the room, shifting on the bed before sitting up. The night rushes back to him and he rubs his hand over his face, clearing away sleep and the haze of satiation that weighs down his limbs.

“You’re awake, sir?”

He nods and reaches for his tunic. “Where are…” He stops, his voice hoarse and dry. “Where’s Arthur?”

“He’s on the hill.”

Lancelot reaches for his pants and pulls them on, padding over to the table and the heavy mug of water. He drinks it down and takes the cold slab of meat from the plate, ripping a chunk off with sharp teeth. “Guinevere?”

“I don’t know.” The boy backs away from the table to the door. “I could find out if you’d like.”

“No.” He rips off another bite. “Where’s everyone else?”

“We’re leaving.” Gawain’s voice comes from the doorway and Lancelot winces, flinching away from the sound more than he had from the piercing sun. “Arthur’s ordered everyone to go south to Rome. Freedom.”

“While he stays to be slaughtered.” Lancelot sighs. “When do we ride?”

“Your horse was rather lonely last night, Lancelot.” He bites the apple he holds in his hand and grins. “Perhaps he knew you were mounting something else?”

“You cease to amuse me.” He reaches out and snags the apple from Gawain’s hand. “We’re ready to ride?”

“We are.” He steals the apple back. “Are you?”

Lancelot nods as they leave the room and walk outside, his eyes on the solitary figure on the distant hill. “Lead me home.”

 


End file.
